


Lonely Star

by softouches



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anyways, Fluff, M/M, drummer!san, my dumbass deleted this on accident haha, or smth like that, poetry clubs and astrology references, shy!san, sighs, wooyoung astrology nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softouches/pseuds/softouches
Summary: Seonghwa couldn’t say that he didn’t like San, in the first place. Yeah, his fashion choices were a bit odd to him, and his sometimes overly hooded make-up and unbelievable amount of metal and black ink on his skin maybe made him feel a bit wary, but generally he seemed to be your ordinary college student who just happens to be in a band.And here, right at that place, lies the main cause of Seonghwa’s prejudice towards the kid.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 33
Kudos: 107





	Lonely Star

**Author's Note:**

> my dumbass accidentally deleted the fic when i was editing it and i really need new laptop :/
> 
> so, this work has a lot of astrology references and before you start just saying i have nothing against any sign you all are cool
> 
> this has small [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3x7V4coY6YEzybft42RVqK?si=mnSfxZ6PQS-2_xOIytjwhg) and i'm sorry i forgot what i was saying when posting it yesterday because i am dumbass but give it a listen for a better feel ig

There were a lot of things Seonghwa has expected to see when he entered the library this evening.

From dozens of books, neatly stored on the table somewhere in the far corner, to brightly coloured lamps and small scattered papers that are filled with orderly written poem verses. Hell, he even expected to see Yoohyeon, who usually comes in a bit earlier to help Seonghwa with arranging everything in place and help with handouts and small gifts for newcomers (if there are any, of course). Poetry club was not even near the list of popular activities on their campus, so usually, Park Seonghwa expected to be met with an ordinary flow of things.

What Park Seonghwa has not expected, though, is the sight of Choi San sitting with his legs crossed behind one of the tables.

Seonghwa couldn’t say that he didn’t like San, in the first place. Yeah, his fashion choices were a bit odd to him, and his sometimes overly hooded make-up and unbelievable amount of metal and black ink on his skin _maybe_ made him feel a bit wary, but generally he seemed to be your ordinary college student who just happens to be in a band.

And here, right at that place, lies the main cause of Seonghwa’s prejudice towards the kid.

Seonghwa is not a superficial human being, he really isn’t. He always tries to be nice, polite, and welcoming towards anyone who is coming into the club, and he is always trying to look past the outerself of a person in attempts of not jumping into any hasty conclusions.

But, for some reason, when it comes to Choi San, Seonghwa is blinded by the number of set prejudices that are stuck in his mind. He knew it isn’t right, or even rational, at that point, but sadly his every try of getting to act nice ended up with rather harsh glances thrown into the kid’s direction.

Perhaps, that all were coming from something deeper than a mere perception of a typical band member, but now Seonghwa is way too furious to unveil that.

“The hell are you doing here?” He comes closer to the table, eyes staring at the boy behind the desk with an obvious distaste.

San jumps into his place, and Seonghwa only now notices how the kid has earphones plugged in his ears. He hurriedly stands up to give a small bow, but quickly plops back, fiddling with the wires. “Hi,” San says in a quiet voice, gaze scattered around in attempts of not looking at Seonghwa. “I’m—you,” he sucks in a breath with a nervous smile, “it’s a poetry club, right?”

“No, a fucking rock concert,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes with a huff. “Yes, a poetry club, what else it looks like?”

“Then I’m in a right place?”

“No, you are not?”

A bright blush blooms on San’s cheeks and he shrinks, looking down to the ground. Seonghwa almost feels guilty for lashing out his unprompted anger on the boy who honestly did nothing wrong.

Almost.

“Look,” San clears his throat. His voice is still soft and breathy in contrast to Seonghwa’s harsh and stiff one. “I know you don’t really like me, and it’s okay, it’s not like we can be fond of everyone,” he shoots a quick smile and looks up. “But I really like poetry. A lot. I attended lit club when I was in high school, and I honestly miss the feeling so I wanted to try this out, you know?” He nibbles at the metal ring on his lips – not in an alluring manner, the act is actually so brittle and neurotic that Seonghwa feels a pang of guilt again. “I even made a list of recommendations and—yeah.”

For a moment Seonghwa stays quiet, carefully observing the boy in front of him. His attire is all black and leather, as always. His ears are blistering with metal studs and there are some red highlights that emphasize the jet black colour of his hair. It looks so out of the place in the dullness and coziness of library that it makes Seonghwa’s guts twitch, and that single feeling is enough to question everything that is coming out of the boy’s mouth. “I don’t buy it, Choi San.”

“What?” San blinks, looking back at Seonghwa with utter confusion.

“Tell me an actual reason why you’re here.”

“I told you?” For the first time San’s voice rises up, but the look on his face is still completely lost and puzzled, without any traces of anger. “I want to join poetry club.”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“No? I never said that?”

Seonghwa is close to yelling – and San’s completely indifferent and calm reaction to his every word is bugging him out even more, which is kind of counterintuitive, but knowing Seonghwa’s stubborn nature is rather predictable. He opens his mouth again, preparing for the next jab, when he hears the sound of someone’s steps behind him.

“What’s happening?” Seonghwa turns around and is faced with Yoohyeon – her arms are full of books and handouts. “I come in later _one_ time and you are already creating chaos.”

“I don’t create anything,” Seonghwa hisses, throwing a demonstrative look at San. The latter shoots out a quick smile, bowing to Yoohyeon just like he did when he saw Seonghwa.

Okay, the boy has manners, so what.

Yoohyeon arches an eyebrow, mirroring San’s confusion. “Uhm, yeah? This is San, and?”

“It’s--,” Seonghwa takes a deep breath, being on the verge of pulling his hair out one by one. “Exactly? It’s San?”

“So what, Seonghwa?” Yooheyon groans, rolling her eyes. “He came up to me two days ago asking for poetry club schedule because the boy is _terrified_ of you.”

“And you gave it to him?” Seonghwa shrieks.

“Is the fact that he is terrified of you not bothersome?” Yoohyeon slams her belongings on the table and San jumps, letting out a weak yelp. 

“No?”

“Oh god,” she throws her head back in annoyance. “Here,” Yoohyeon takes a few books and places them in Seonghwa’s arms. “Bring them back to section C, I forgot to do that previous time.”

He takes the weight, gaze still glued to San who seems very much interested in ugly patterns on the ceiling all of a sudden. “Fine,” Seonghwa grits through his teeth and turns around, trying to recall where section C is even located. _‘I’m so sorry for him’_ He hears behind his back and snorts, cursing out the whole world on his way. Seonghwa is not just angry – he is furious, confused, and annoyed, blood boiling through his veins with a full force.

Yet, when San is somewhere far away, and the adrenaline of the fight dies down, the word ‘terrified’ accompanied by the image of blush on San’s cheeks resonates with a painful jab in his chest.

And, perhaps, Seonghwa thinks that he fucked up.

*

“You are an ass.”

That’s the first thing Seonghwa hears when the last person leaves the library. San has rushed out of the place one of the firsts, quickly shooting a wary smile in Seonghwa’s direction. Not like it matters.

At all.

“Elaborate, Yoohyeon,” he lets out an exasperated sigh while arranging the books on the table.

“Seriously?” She looks up, crossing arms on her chest. “You kept sending daggers into the poor boy’s direction, he couldn’t even look back at you because you scare him away.”

“Good thing.”

“Oh, come on?” Yooheyon exclaims, leaping on the table top. Seonghwa gives her a judging look. They are in library, after all. “What the kid has ever done to you?”

“Practically? Nothing,” Seognhwa huffs. “In theory, I know something is wrong.”

“You are just prejudiced! And San looked genuinely excited to share his recommendations and was really interested to hear everyone’s self-composed pieces.”

Seonghwa could have raged again. Could have come up with series of harsh comments towards the kid again, using all the exhaustion and anger of being scolded by Yoohyeon as if he is a child who knows nothing.

But the saddest thing is that Yoohyeon is right. About everything.

San’s eyes _shined_. Seonghwa noticed after one more round of sending daggers into his back with his stern gaze, but the boy’s whole look was glimmering, and a gentle smile played on his lips while listening to the others.

When Yoohyeon asked San to introduce himself, he stumbles up a little, fiddling with the ring on his lip again while scratching the back of his head. He bows, briefly telling some facts and pieces of his life, laughing softly at how everyone says ‘we know that already’. But it sounds kind-hearted and genuine while coming from other people, unlike the feeling that Seonghwa’s words had to them. And then the boy recited verses from his favourite poem.

_On foot I had to cross the solar system._

Seonghwa doesn’t remember the whole verse, but that line is stuck in his head like a glue, not leaving him alone. He just remembers it being of rather free structure, rhymes not mixing up here and there. Seonghwa honestly can’t identify the author as well, and didn’t have the guts to ask San about that, especially after the hell he made the poor kid go through. But the way he delivered the verses – maybe it’s because he is a performer, or has his ways with words – but everything about that was breathtaking, despite lasting for less than a minute. And Park Seonghwa realizes that he is, indeed, an ass.

Write that down in history books.

“For one second please stop being a stubborn bitch and apologize,” Yoohyeon’s voice snaps him back to reality, striking through the mush of his thoughts like a bolt of thunder on a sunny day.

Seonghwa heads home with head full of regrets and a heavy heart.

*

“Hey, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa looks at his roommate sprawled on his bed with an open laptop in front of him. There is a bag of chips in his hands and Seonghwa’s eye is already twitching from the amount of crumbs scattered on the floor.

Wooyoung looks up, quickly placing the food on the other side. “Before you start yelling at me, I promise to clean this all up,” he raises his arms in defense but Seonghwa ignores the gesture, plopping down on his roommate’s bed as it crackles under his weight. Wooyoung just huffs at that, shuffling closer to the wall to give the boy space.

“Am I a stubborn bitch?” Seonghwa asks after a few minutes of silence.

“You are an Aries, it’s given,” Wooyoung shrugs. Seonghwa aims with his arm for a kick but Wooyoung is faster, dodging it in one swift motion. “What have you done again?”

“Again?” Seonghwa shrieks, kicking the boy with his feet.

Wooyoung gives him _a look._

“It’s about a boy--”

“Oh.”

“Not like that,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He pulls his knees closer to the chest, already feeling like a complete jerk while going through the events of the day. “Do you know Choi San?”

“Who doesn’t? I love ‘Zero Fever’.”

“Zero Fever?”

Wooyoung groans, throwing his head back. “Their band, you heathen.”

“Irrelevant to the topic,” Seonghwa says, tracing fingers along the fabric of his jeans. It’s rough under his fingertips, creating a fuzzy feeling on his skin. “So, Choi San.” He takes a deep breath, trying to compile all the scattered words in one sentence. “Perhaps – hypothetically – what would you do if he came to the poetry club and you were a member of the club?”

“Say hi?” Wooyoung picks up bag of chips again, and starts munching loudly. When he looks up at Seonghwa again – who is suspiciously silent as he tries to explain the problem – his eyes widen in realization. “Oh my god, you fucked up, didn’t you?”

“I—No.” Seonghwa starts rubbing on his temples in an attempt to calm down. His first instinct is to deny his fault, to blame San for everything again, and, maybe, to run away and turn back time so that this conversation wouldn’t even happen. “Wooyoung, it’s Choi San. In fucking poetry club.”

Wooyoung looks back at him as if he’s an idiot – or a little kid. His eyebrows rise up as he sighs. “And? We’re not in a fucking school anymore, Hwa,” he says in the same scolding tone that Yoohyeon used. “Yunho shares one of the classes with him and says he’s really nice and always gives him notes.”

“When was the last time you saw a punk kid in a poetry club?”

“The boy shouldn’t be responsible for your conservative ways of thinking.”

“Conservative?” Seonghwa yelps, titling his head. “Hello, I am gay?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “The boy came into the club because he genuinely shares an interest with you and other people there, and the first thing you do is attack him with yelling, acting like a wholeass _jerk_.” Hearing that from his best friend is even worse than hearing it from Yoohyeon. Seonghwa’s cheeks are flushed as he hides his face in his knees, covering his head with arms. “Apologize to him, you stubborn bitch,” Wooyoung mutters, and starts soothingly rubbing circles into his back.

“That’s what Yoohyeon said,” Seonghwa says, but the words are muffled by the cloth and it comes out more like a plea. As if he’s asking for act of grace.

“Capricorn, isn’t she? Love her for that.”

“Have no idea what are you even saying,” Seonghwa chuckles. “And okay, I will apologize. Next time.”

“If he comes,” Wooyoung says and Seonghwa hates that he has a reasoning. “He always eats dinner with his friend in cafeteria. Find him there tomorrow.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” Wooyoung leans in, hugging the boy by the shoulders. “And invite him to the club again. I know you’re good at heart, Hwa. Try to show him that as well.”

 _Am I?_ Seonghwa wants to ask but stays silent, peeping out of his elbow. Wooyoung laughs at that while shaking his head and pulling the boy even closer. Seonghwa is a bit bigger so he has to shrink slightly to fit on Wooyoung’s shoulder.

It’s finally calm.

“When did you get smart?” Seonghwa whispers, looking up.

“I get smart every time you do something dumb.”

“You’re lucky I’m tired and want cuddles, Wooyoung.”

The latter snorts and ruffles Seonghwa’s hair. They put on a drama on the background and Wooyoung tries to lift up the mood with snarky comments followed by exaggerated and expressive reactions. Seonghwa is thankful, as it sets free some of his regretful thoughts and laugh is bubbling in his chest with smile that is sticking tightly to his lips. Yet, one line still gets trapped in his mind, beating through the cage that is Seonghwa’s head with a force, as if it’s a bird who is trying to break away. The knot in his guts tighten.

_On foot I had to cross the solar system._

*

The cafeteria is rather full in the middle of the day. Seonghwa watches as people quickly pass him back and forth, mostly gathered in small groups as the sound of their voices is echoing through the walls. The room is light, and filled with lots of pastel colours which, logically, should create a soothing and calming atmosphere for students.

Seonghwa is far, oh way too fucking far from being calm.

He has been reciting his apology speech for over twenty times in the past few hours, and everything seems to look perfect, as Seonghwa has spotted San as soon as he entered the cafeteria, so it was a high time to turn his plan into action. Yet, Seonghwa feels his knees going weak with every closer step he takes towards the boy.

As if he is, indeed, crossing the solar system.

Behind the table in the corner San is throwing his head back in a genuine laughter. He turns around to say something to his friend while gesticulating vividly with his hands. There is a wide grin plastered on his face and his voice seemed to be heard even from afar.

_Breath in breath out, Seonghwa. Breath in, breathe out._

Gathering last pieces of courage that are left, Seonghwa practically springs in the boy’s direction. As he finally approaches the table his presence goes unnoticed – San is way too occupied with his friend. Seonghwa stumbles in his place awkwardly, and it seems like the whole world is watching his every step now. He clears his throat – once, then twice – second time being much louder. San’s head snaps, and he looks up with a soft smile but as soon as he sees Seonghwa the corners of his lips twitch backwards.

_Is the fact that he is terrified of you not bothersome?_

Sometimes Seonghwa thinks his voice of sanity is Kim Yoohyeon.

They stare at each for a few minutes in complete silence and his friend – oh, that’s Yeosang – gives him a distasteful look.

_So that’s how the kid felt._

“Hi,” Seonghwa forces out meekly, shooting boy a quick smile.

San furrows, obviously rather confused. “Hey.” His voice sounds just as Seonghwa has remembered – soft and calm.

“I--,” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, tearing the gaze away from the boy. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” San shrugs, and something softens in his expression. He sees how his face relaxes a bit, as if all the tension is finally being released.

Seonghwa opens his mouth but closes it as soon as he looks at Yeosang, who is still throwing daggers with his eyes. “Do you mind going somewhere else? I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”

“He has nothing to hide from me,” Yeosang says in a stiff voice. It’s also soft and gentle, but there is a faint warning underlying in it. Seonghwa feels goosebumps forming at the back of his neck. But it’s what he deserves for being an ass, after all, so he takes that with honor.

At least he hopes so.

“It’s fine, Sangie,” San chimes in, turning back to Yeosang. “I will be back in a few.”

With that he gets up, and Seonghwa gestures to follow along, moving forward. His steps still feel heavy, and there is something electrocuted fuming in the air, as Seonghwa feels San’s presence behind his back. He leads them to the small yard behind the campus – it’s rather windy today, but sun rays are falling onto the greenery and benches placed around. He stops near one of the walls and San mirrors him, gaze locked to the floor.

He looks really nice, Seonghwa notes. It’s still mostly black and leather, but today San is wearing a black button-up tucked into his ripped jeans, with a few chains dangling down. It looks not as striking as usual, but adds a kind of elegant feel to him. San is naturally good-looking guy – Seonghwa has eyes, after all – so it is sometimes hard to keep the gaze away from him.

“Are you okay?” San asks, finally looking up. His eyes are soft, and there is a half-smile on his lips, indicating that the boy is genuinely worried about Seonghwa’s well-being. And it’s definitely not what he deserves for acting like a prick.

Seonghwa doesn’t deserve the boy’s kindness.

“I am fine,” he nods. The speech that he has prepared is lost somewhere between the noise of cafeteria and San’s eyes that are laced with nothing but sincere concern. “Actually, I just wanted to apologize,” Seonghwa says in one short breath, shutting his eyes close. “For yesterday. Yeah.”

“Oh.” San blinks, lips parting in a faint surprise. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

For some reason, the blood boils in Seonghwa’s veins at the words. He frowns, feeling as something shifts inside, as if someone pulled the trigger. “No, it’s not okay, San,” he says and it comes out a bit harsher than he expected. San flinches a little and Seonghwa immediately feels a pang of guilt. “It’s not okay because I really acted like an ass,” he hurriedly explains further in attempt to smooth out the situation. “And you don’t have to accept it like it’s a given. What I did was awful, and I am very sorry, because you are really fucking nice, and kind, and don’t deserve that kind of treatment at all.”

Seonghwa runs out of air, and coughs, covering his mouth. The apology is not as formal as he has initially planned, but when he looks at San, he sees a wide, bright smile, that is finally directed at him and oh my god, the boy has dimples. The prettiest dimples that Seonghwa has ever seen.

“I really appreciate that,” San says, swaying on his feet back and forth. His hands are in his pockets, and his expression practically radiates cheerfulness now.

Seognhwa can’t help but return the smile. “I’m glad,” he says quietly – Seonghwa isn’t even sure the boy has caught that. He feels a few drops of sweat forming at the back of his neck and on his hands as his pulse starts acting up and picks up its pace. “Also, I really liked the poem that you recited.”

“On foot I had to cross the solar system,” San nods. It sounds a bit different from the line that is in Seonghwa’s head – San says it with the lingering excitement in his voice, and his eyes disappear into two small crescents from the genuine smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa replies, still a bit stunned by the sight. “It has been stuck with me since yesterday.” He doesn’t know what makes him say that revelation, but the mere excitement that appears on San’s face is totally worth it, Seonghwa decides.

_Wait, what._

“It’s cool!” San exclaims and claps. _Claps._ The way he acts is so strikingly contrasting with his intimidating and fierce looks that Seonghwa feels dizzy. “I mean, it’s really cool that you liked it? I have a thing for poems about space, you know? Like stars, and planets, and moon. Anything connected to skies,” he says, gesticulating vividly. He does this often when he is excited, from what Seonghwa has noticed. “Just like your name, Seonghwa,” San suddenly says, and titles his head to the side while looking back at the boy with his soft gaze.

 _‘It means that you are the brightest star, Seonghwa,’_ his mother would say. _‘And stars are never meant to be lonely.’_

Something sticky gathers in the pit of his stomach. At first, he thinks it’s because he hasn’t eaten yet, but the goosebumps on his skin are indicating that maybe there is a different cause for that. “My roommate likes astrology,” Seonghwa blurts out – _and oh, come on? The best you could’ve said_ – but he is way too occupied with shifting the tensed atmosphere to drown in self-hatred now.

He could leave that for later.

“Huh?”

 _God, you’re such an idiot, Park Seonghwa._ “Astrology. I mean, it’s about stars, right?”

San gives out a small chuckle, scratching the back of his head and looks up from under his lowered eyelids. “I’m pretty sure it is?” He asks with a smile. It’s a bit awkward, but not in the way it was in the library. If the tension yesterday was all sticky and burning, today it is steady and even, with something fuzzy fuming in the air. Maybe because they both are obviously nervous, or maybe because the smile on San’s lips is practically blinding.

_Oh no, we’re not going there yet._

“Come back to the club. On Friday,” Seonghwa says, trying to sound as confident and stable as he can. “I—we will be glad to see you there. And I promise to behave.”

San laughs, and as the hall is empty it gets trapped into place for several seconds. Seonghwa likes his laugh – it’s as genuine and soft as San is. “Well, if the head of the club invites me then yeah, I’ll be there,” he says, fingers fiddling with his lip ring.

“Nice,” Seonghwa offers him a smile as well.

They head back into the cafeteria with a small talk – Seonghwa asks San about his classes today, and San tells him a story about the girl who came into the auditorium with a blanket and slept through the whole lecture. Seonghwa tells him about his next classes, complaining how philosophy is especially boring because the professor is so old that he can’t even formulate sentences properly. It almost seems like they have always been friends, and there wasn’t any misunderstanding in the first place.

As they reach the entrance, San suddenly turns around, facing him. Seonghwa gets a bit startled, as the boy comes a bit closer, and the slight height difference between them is now obvious, as San has to look up a bit. “Thank you, Seonghwa,” San mutters, yet his eyes are everywhere but on him. Seonghwa’s breath is trapped somewhere between his lungs and throat. “Really, it means a lot.”

Seonghwa reassures him that it’s fine, and then San thanks him again. After a playful banter, he finally heads back to his friend, turning around on his feet to give Seonghwa a small wave. The latter waves back meekly, a wide smile plastered on his face.

Perhaps, crossing the solar system is not that hard.

*

“It’s weird,” Seonghwa says to Wooyoung that night. They are laying in the dark, both tucked in their own beds with the only lighting being present is one that comes from the streets. They talk like this a lot – sometimes till very late hours until one of them finally gives in and falls asleep. Seonghwa thinks those are the best talks as it’s easier to open up when it seems like no one sees you.

“What is?” Wooyoung’s voice strikes through the darkness. “Did you apologize?”

“Yeah.”

“It went bad?”

“No, actually it went pretty good,” Seonghwa smiles at himself, recollecting the memory. “We settled it quickly, and even had a small friendly talk. He promised to come back on Friday.”

“Then why it’s weird?”

Silence falls for a few minutes, and Seonghwa starts to think that it would be nice to pretend he is asleep. Yet, it feels like someone has lifted the curtain, and now all the words flow out of him without any rational thought left behind. “He wasn’t even angry, Woo. Not in the slightest,” he says, feeling as his own voice is breaking a little. “The first thing that he said to me when we were alone was ‘are you okay?’. As if he genuinely thought I wanted to talk because I needed something from him,” Seonghwa chuckles bitterly. “And then, in the end, he kept on thanking me, and like—” He stops for a second, thankful that Wooyoung lets him talk as it is. “Why are you thanking me? For acting like a decent human being and owning up to my shit?”

“Not everyone has guts to own up to their shit, Hwa.” Wooyoung says in a voice that is almost gentle. Seonghwa doesn’t see his face, even when his eyes have already adjusted to the darkness of the room, but he is sure there is a worried look in his friend’s gaze.

“I know but--,” He inhales sharply, closing his eyes. Somewhere on the back of his eyelids there are stars. “Would you thank someone who acted like an ass to you?”

“Of course I won’t,” Wooyoung snorts.

“That’s what I am saying.”

Wooyoung hums something, and Seonghwa hears as he shuffles in his place. Must have turned to the side so he could face him. “I just think that maybe he is used to people judging him. First impression and all that, you know,” he says. “And perhaps, even when people realize how he really is, they don’t usually acknowledge that they fucked up out aloud, leaving alone apologizing. But you did. As sad as it may sound, maybe he is just not used to be treated with niceness in return, and in order to block that he just doesn’t pay attention to such things anymore.”

“Wow, now I feel like an ass even more.”

“As I said, you had guts to own up to this, so.” Seonghwa almost sees how Wooyoung is shrugging.

He lets the thought sink in. He thinks of the boy with a tentative blush on his cheeks, who stumbles awkwardly in his place when he’s shy, who likes poetry and learns ones that are connected to space and stars by heart because he is in love with skies. Seonghwa thinks of the boy who has been worried about him, even when Seonghwa himself was nothing but harsh and stiff.

Something shifts in his chest but he decides to brush it away.

“Do you already have assumptions? About his sign, I mean,” Seonghwa asks, hoping that Wooyoung is still awake. He needs a distraction before he gets drown in his own head.

“Oh, so now you’re interested,” Wooyoung huffs. “Took us one pretty boy to achieve that.”

“I will punch you in the throat.”

“Meanie,” Wooyoung grumbles, but there is a laugh in his voice. “To answer your question: he seems like he has a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. Maybe Pisces? Oh, wait, he actually gives me major Cancer vibes.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Hey, you were the one to ask!” He shrieks, and Seonghwa sees how Wooyoung’s silhouette moves in the dark, as he probably lifts himself up on his elbows. “Ask him if he knows his birthtime.”

“Who even knows their birthtime?”

“Yunho does,” Wooyoung replies without skipping a beat. “And you promised to ask your mother that for ages, you fucker.”

“Sorry.”

A pillow is thrown in Seonghwa’s direction, and he laughs, catching it. Wooyoung plops back on the bed and it screeches under his weight. “You have so many Aries placements in your chart that my eyes _hurt_.”

“Okay?” Seonghwa snorts, hugging Wooyoung’s – now his – pillow close.

“Fucker, truly.”

Seonghwa counts in his head, and comes to a conclusion that around thirty minutes have passed by now. Wooyoung stays silent, so he assumes the boy fell asleep, hopefully. They are getting up early tomorrow, and it’s around three in the morning according to his humble counting. His eyelids are finally getting heavy, and the world is engulfed into a blur all at once as he dozes off.

“You know you deserve all the nice things, Hwa, right?” Seonghwa hears Wooyoung’s voice as if through the dense layer of water. He doesn’t know if it’s a dream, or still a reality, but his lips are twitching in a smile. “Don’t be harsh on yourself, you idiot.”

Then everything turns black but Seonghwa still manages to see stars.

*

Friday comes faster than Seonghwa has expected.

His heart makes a huge leap at the sight of San passing through the entrance in his black t-shirt and with a backpack slinging over his shoulder. He gives Seonghwa the widest smile, showcasing his huge dimples once again, and Seonghwa thinks he is melting a little as his knees threaten to give up.

Yoohyeon gives him an approving smile, holding two thumbs up and mouthing something close to ‘i am proud of you.’ Seonghwa just shrugs, pretending that he is very much occupied with a book in his hands. Hands that are fucking _trembling_ , and definitely not from the cold.

_Pull your shit together, Park Seonghwa._

He watches as San engages in a lively conversation with Jisung and Dami, showing them something on his phone. Yoohyeon joins as well, leaning over their shoulders to give a look. Three of them start playfully bickering and San _whines_ , hiding his face in his hands. Dami gives him a reassuring grip on the shoulder and Jisung light-heartedly laughs, shaking his head. Seonghwa would love to join, but he is still not sure if he’s able to hold his body on his own without any additional support.

Seonghwa doesn’t like where it is going.

The feel of the meeting is nice. They start with discussing the diversity of stylistic devices in Bukowski’s poems – which is kind of boring and trite topic in Seonghwa’s opinion – though, there are some interesting suggestions that keep the conversation going. Somewhere closer to the end, Jisung reads his self-written piece, which is technically just lyrics for his new song but not like anyone minds. San’s face practically lights up when Jisung admits that he has been posting some stuff on soundcloud with his friends. Though they are more hip-hop based – San jokingly rolls his eyes at the revelation – he promises to check them out, typing the name of their crew in his phone.

“I like the lyricisms in rock songs more,” Dami says quietly and San gives her a high five. Jisung groans, but it is followed by a soulful laugh, indicating that nothing has been taken close to heart.

Seonghwa mostly stays silent, but observes every small detail that is happening. San fits to their small circle like a glove, as if he has been there since the beginning, and it feels warm, and safe, and Seonghwa doesn’t know why he was that opposed in the first place. Somewhere at the back of his mind a tiny voice whispers that his assumptions weren’t groundless, but he quickly pushes them back, accepting the fact that San deserved a warm greeting like any other person.

“Will you manage on your own today?” Yoohyeon comes up to Seonghwa at the end, when everyone rushes out of the library.

“You do know that you don’t have to help me every time?”

“If I won’t your overthinking head will eat you up,” she huffs. “But yeah, I have a date today so sadly you have to unleash your demons.”

“For your information, me and my demons are perfectly fine,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Go,” he nudges her on the shoulder. “Have fun for me.”

“Will do!” She chirps, waving Seonghwa with her goodbyes.

Not like there is much work to do after meetings, to begin with. Mostly, you need to put all the books into places, arrange all the chairs and tables back in their initial position, and gather the garbage that may have been left to take it out. Seonghwa always says how he doesn’t need help with that, though being completely alone in the quietness of the library really can take a toll on you if you happen to be a loud thinker.

“Mind if I keep you company?” Seonghwa jabs a little at the sight of San standing in front of him. There is a light blush on his cheeks and a small closed smile on his lips as he fiddles with his lip ring.

Despite looking as if he is heading to perform at some type of rock festival in a few minutes San still manages to look _adorable_.

“Not at all,” Seonghwa shakes his head, hoping that he could get rid of some thoughts like that. “Did you want anything or?” He rushes past the boy and starts stocking the books on the table in one pile.

“Well,” San’s soft voice sounds from behind. Seonghwa also hears the sounds of footsteps, indicating that he is coming closer again. “You told me you liked the poem from the last time and,” Seonghwa freezes in place, and his head snaps to look at the boy behind him. “I brought you a book. I bought it long time ago, and since you seemed interested.”

Only now he notices a thin papered book in San’s hand, noting how they are shaking a little as well. The book looks simple – framed with yellowish colour and two lines of printed text on the cover. Seonghwa feels his pulse beating fast under his skin, almost as if it’s trying to break it away.

He takes the book from San’s hand, careful not to make their fingers touch. Though he really fucking wants to. “Edith Södergran,” the name sounds really foreign and stiff on his tongue and Seonghwa flinches. “Dikter.”

“Her poems are rather…. complex, so to say,” San offers him a quick smile. “Don’t know if you will like stuff, but you can at least give it a try.”

_God, it can’t be fucking happening._

“How did you even find her?” Seonghwa mutters under his breath, eyes still glued to the book in his hands. “Not like you can stumble across this accidentally.”

“I read,” Seonghwa hears as San laughs. “Was walking by flee market the other day, and this book was tucked somewhere at the back so I looked through and there was this poem about solar system and I told you how I like poems about space—” He talks fast, almost engulfing the words, and when Seonghwa looks up at San again his gaze seems hazy and dreamy, as if he is not here. But then he blinks, looking back at Seonghwa in almost terror. “I am rambling, aren’t I?”

“No, no, no!” Seonghwa nearly shrieks, grasping on the book in his hands like it’s the last straw of his life. “It’s fine. I like your rambles!” _Very mature, Park Seonghwa._ “I mean, it’s really interesting,” he clears his throat, feeling as his face starts getting hot.

“You’re way too nice to me.”

_Nice?_

“Says you,” Seonghwa huffs. “But, go ahead, tell me more.”

Feeling that the whole situation is rather embarrassing for San, Seonghwa faces him with his back again, and continues to gather the books in a pile to organize them. Then he starts arranging the chairs and tables back into their positions, waiting for San to continue with his talks.

“Her story is rather tragic since she has always dreamed of other countries and lands, but got sick at a young age and had to constantly spend her days in hospitals,” San finally says, and when Seonghwa turns around to look at him the boy is sitting on the table top while swaying with his legs. Under other circumstances, Seonghwa would have scolded him for that but when it comes to San, he doesn’t have a heart to do so.

_Just how fast the night changes._

“What’s interesting is that she describes only fractions instead of going into full details, which leaves you intrigued,” San continues, eyes looking hazed and dreamy again.

“Her works must be heavy.”

“They kind of are,” he shrugs. “That’s why I am saying it’s not for everyone.”

“I will give it a try,” Seonghwa promises, looking at the place where he had left the book. He rests his hands on the back of the chair, thrumming with his fingers along the surface. The sound echoes through the silence, but it’s not awkward at all. Just seems like both of them are way too occupied with their own thoughts. Seonghwa looks back at San, observing him from head to toes while the boy doesn’t see. _He seems like he has a lot of emotional baggage to unpack._

Fucking Jung Wooyoung.

“What’s your zodiac sign?” Seonghwa blurts out and immediately flinches at the way the question sounds so out of place.

San’s head jerks up as he blinks through. “Is that an elaborate way to ask me out?” He asks with a laugh and smirks. _Smirks._

Seonghwa feels dizzy.

“No!” He almost screams, quite sure that his cheeks are crimson by now. “I mean, not like I mind but remember I told you about my roommate? The one who likes astrology?” God, Seonghwa really hopes he doesn’t look like an idiot. “We were talking, and he assumed that you might be a Cancer, so I kind of got curious because, you know, Wooyoung rarely fails in his guessing games?” Seonghwa looks down, fiddling with his fingers.

“So, you talk about me with your roommate?” It’s not accusing – San’s voice is now filled with mischief and teasing, and Seonghwa would have cooed at that if he wasn’t eaten up by the panic now.

_How the fuck it got even worse._

“Yes—No—I mean,” Seonghwa groans and that makes San laugh even harder. For some reason it’s still cute. “I felt really bad after our first meeting, in the library. And I didn’t know what to do, or how to fix everything, so yeah, we did talk about you,” Seonghwa chuckles at the memory. “And, as I said he has a thing for astrology, so that talk was inevitable.”

_Yeah, not like I asked him that myself, phew._

“I see,” San nods, trying to contain a smile that tries to break away on his face. “But kudos to your roommate, I guess? I am, indeed, a Cancer.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa furrows. Not like he knows what to do with that revelation without Wooyoung anyways.

“And you?”

“Huh?”

San shakes his head, and dimples appear on his cheeks. “What’s your sign, dummy?”

Seonghwa dies a little. Either from the sight of dimples, either at the nickname.

“Ah, right,” he rubs his hands together in attempts to dry down the sweat. “Aries,” Seonghwa gives a forced smile. “I am an Aries.”

“Yeah that’s..,” San looks at the ceiling, as if he is thinking something through. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Et tu, Brute,” Seonghwa mutters and San snorts at the reference.

“I didn’t even say anything bad!”

“Your face did, though.”

The room just turns into splutters of smiles and laughter. It feels warm, almost familiar, Seonghwa’s insides turning into a soft mush every time San looks at him. They gather all the garbage together, leaving the library hand in hand and with several trash bags to throw away. The conversation flows, and all the awkwardness from their first and second encounters seem to vanish, leaving alone just a slight trace of nervousness. Talking to San is as easy as breathing, and, ironically, Seonghwa can’t get enough.

“Thank you,” he says as they stop in front of the library entrance. It’s dark, and chilly, and the moon seems to be hidden with clouds.

“For what?” San’s eyebrows jerk up as he blinks in confusion.

“First of all, for the book,” Seonghwa raises it up in his hand for San to see. “And for the company. It was fun.”

“It was,” San nods. He is swaying on his feet back and forth, hands hiding in the sleeves of his leather jacket as they are a bit long. Seonghwa wonders if his skin in as cold as it looks. “Your roommate can sleep peacefully now.”

Seonghwa laughs. “Don’t know if he is actually capable of that, but thank you for making sure.”

“Of course.”

They stare at each other for a couple of minutes, as no one moves. Seonghwa knows that it’s a right time to say goodbyes, or ‘see you’, and leave, but something lingers in the air and doesn’t want to let Seonghwa go. If he was braver, he would maybe ask for San’s number.

And maybe say that he wants, indeed, to ask him out.

“I’m glad we’re on good terms now, Seonghwa.” The way San says his name is mellow, almost fragile, as if it is ready to break if you don’t pronounce it in a right way.

It makes Seonghwa feel as if he is special.

“Meet you next Friday, then?” He asks hopefully, hands slightly trembling from the cold.

“Or maybe sooner,” San replies, and Seonghwa’s heart seems to stop.

They part ways, and Seonghwa promises that he would give San’s book a read again. The walk to home is fast and long at the same time, Seonghwa’s hand still clinging to the gift in his hands. He wants to sit right there, on the ground, and read it through as it is, but somehow it feels like the first time he takes in the first words should be _special_.

Seonghwa is screwed.

Wooyoung greats him with a smile when he finally stumbles into the room, but it falls as soon as he sees the look on Seonghwa’s face. The latter slides down the door as he closes it behind, sitting on the floor. Wooyoung rushes to him, watching as Seonghwa is unable to contain a wide smile breaking on his face. He tries to compile the words into sentences, hoping it doesn’t sound like a blur of emotions, but Wooyoung seems to decipher everything somehow.

“He gave you a book with poems.”

“Yes.”

“Because you said you liked the poem he recited.”

“Kind of?”

Wooyoung groans, dropping to the floor as well.

“Cancer,” Seonghwa says. “You were right, he is a Cancer, whatever the hell it means.”

“Pretty useless piece of information for me,” Wooyoung snorts. “Could have at least ask for his birthday. Leaving alone place of birth.”

“Should I make a fucking google form for him next time?”

“That actually would be appreciated,” Wooyoung says, gaze flickering up to Seonghwa’s eyes. “Christ, you are really smitten for him, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa’s fingers linger on the cover of the book. Holding his breath, he opens it just where a tiny purple bookmark is placed.

_On foot_

_I had to cross the solar system_

_before I found the first thread of my red dress._

_I sense myself already._

_Somewhere in space hangs my heart,_

_shaking in the void, from it stream sparks_

_into other intemperate hearts._

“Maybe, I am” Seonghwa mutters quietly. “Just a little bit.”

*

Somewhere between long talks and stolen glances, San and Seonghwa exchange numbers.

It happens so promptly natural, that he doesn’t even realize how the boy quickly, but surely incorporates himself in Seonghwa’s busy and strictly scheduled life. Coffee meetings before and after poetry club gatherings on Fridays, exchanging opinions on books through messages, getting lunch outside whenever they happen to be without their friends. Hell, San even replaces Yoohyeon in her usual ‘I should keep you company while you clean up everything after the meeting so you stay sane and don’t overthink’ routine. It happens in a span of three weeks, but Seonghwa still feels as if San has always been somewhere there, by his side.

And it fucking _terrifies_ him.

“And then I called Wooyoung to tell him my birthtime,” San says, and Seonghwa snaps his head up in surprise. They are sitting in the cafeteria, and the last thing Seonghwa remembers is how San asked him if he can steal his coffee.

“Huh?”

“Oh, look, he’s here again!” San jokingly nudges his shoulder with a cheeky smile. “Thought you flew away to the Mars.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch. “Sorry, have a lot of homework lately and I am kinda spacing out.”

“It’s fine,” San reassures him. “You can even nap, if you want.”

“Will you lend me your shoulder?”

“They might be a bit small, but definitely.”

Seonghwa looks down to his sandwich, hoping that the blush on his cheeks isn’t that obvious.

“You wanted to say something to me, didn’t you?” San asks, leaning closer from the other side of the table.

Oh, right. It was him to ask to meet up for lunch.

“I did,” Seonghwa nods, pulling his bag lying beside closer. “You said you can’t make it next Friday, right?”

“Yeah, we are having more rehearsals because the band is performing in ‘Scene Stealers’ on Sunday. Why?”

Seonghwa feels his heart beating ten times faster as he searches through his bag. “Uhm, you see,” he huffs, finally finding what he was looking for. “Remember how you said you like poems about space and stars and all of that? I recently found an article with compilation of those, so I printed some and gathered them in this one little thing so,” Seonghwa keeps his gaze low, hoping that San can even make out any of his hopeless rambles. “It’s nothing much, just thought that—”

“Wait,” San interrupts him but Seonghwa is way too scared to look up. _He is thinking that I am an idiot oh my g—_ “Are you for real?” The excitement in his voice is so obvious that Seonghwa wants to curl into the ball and cry, and maybe wrap San into a big warm blanket. He finally looks up and San’s eyes are nothing but small crescents hidden into a huge eye smile. “Seonghwa, oh my god,” he takes the small book – not really a book, a stock of joined papers if we’re honest – in his hands, observing it carefully. “No one has ever done something like that to me!”

“Hey, it’s really nothing—”

“No!” He exclaims, eyes still glued to the thing in his hands. Now Seonghwa feels like an idiot for decorating the white cover with stickers of stars and small planets because, honestly, it’s so fucking childish. But giving it completely blank was not enough aesthetics so here they are. “It’s a lot. It’s fucking huge, Hwa. This is so thoughtful, and beautiful and oh my god are those little stars?”

“Look, I wanted to keep the aesthetics in place.”

“It’s cute,” San laughs, placing the thing on the table and looking back at Seonghwa. “You’re cute.”

_Wait, wait, wait._

He’s _what_ now?

“I’m sorry?” Seonghwa prays for his voice to stay stable. “You are the one who is learning poems about space by heart why am I suddenly the one who is cute?”

“Are you really denying your cuteness, Mr. I-have-Aries-almost-in-every-placement?”

“Remind me again why Wooyoung sent you my chart and how you even got his number.”

“I have my ways,” San winks, taking a sip from _Seonghwa’s_ cup. “I actually wanted to ask you something as well today.”

“Oh?”

“As I said, we are performing on Sunday,” San says, thrumming his fingers on the table while fiddling with his lip ring. _Nervous._ “I wanted to invite you to come.”

Seonghwa thinks he is drowning with the way his lungs hurt from the breath he is holding.

“I know it’s not exactly something you like, and you don’t usually visit those types of events,” San continues and the smile on his lips wobbles. “But I would be really fucking happy to see you there.”

_Fuck._

Seonghwa is a weak man when it comes to a certain boy with dimples as deep as the sea. “Sure,” he says and San’s face lights up.

“Really?”

“Why not?” Seonghwa shrugs, gathering all the pieces of sanity that are left to stay collected. “Wait, I don’t even know what instrument you are playing.”

San’s eyes gleam with something mischievous. “Guess,” he shoots him a coy smile and something twists in the pit of Seonghwa’s stomach.

“Guitar?”

“I am not _that_ predictable.”

Seonghwa sighs. _You’re anything but predictable, Choi San._ “Don’t tell me you play drums.” San’s smile falls a little. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you do, don’t you?”

“Well, that’s not the reaction I wanted but yes, I play drums,” San chuckles. “You have something against that, Park Seonghwa?”

“Not at all.” _It’s hot,_ Seonghwa wants to say and bites his tongue.

“I _can_ play the guitar, though.”

_You have to be fucking kidding me._

“Nice,” Seonghwa forces out.

They finish eating in silence, San looking through Seonghwa’s gift with a raw unfiltered excitement on his face. It’s so entertaining to watch, as the boy’s reactions are really vivid and bright – he gasps out loud, coos, and claps with his hands when he sees something that he especially likes. Seonghwa melts into the puddle of feelings and emotions, and the thought that he is the one who brought the boy so much happiness in the first place is painfully intoxicating.

And maybe, Park Seonghwa isn’t just a little bit smitten.

Maybe – just maybe – he is a little bit in love.

*

“I don’t understand why I should tag along to your date.”

Seonghwa sighs, holding up two sweaters in his hands. One is a soft beige and the other is navy blue, a nice pastel palette that he likes. “It’s not a date, Woo,” he says, turning to the mirror and placing one of the sweaters over his body. “He just wanted me to come and support him.”

“He emphasized that he would be happy to see _you_ specifically.”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Seonghwa says, putting on the beige sweater. As he faces Wooyoung again, the latter stares back at him with an arched eyebrow and a mocking look on his face. “Seriously? You’re going to the club like this?”

“Does it look bad?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, and comes closer. “We both know you can look annoyingly stunning even in a potato sack,” he chuckles, and goes straight to the closet behind Seonghwa, opening it. “But let’s choose something more appropriate for the place, shall we?”

“But I don’t have a mood to dress fancy,” Seonghwa whines.

“No one is dressing _fancy_ , you big baby,” Wooyoung grumbles, looking through Seonghwa’s neatly organized clothes. “God, it’s so sterile in here, how do you live?”

“I just like to keep everything clean,” Seonghwa says defensively. “And it’s easier to find what you are looking for if you sort everything by colour.”

“Okay, Virgo rising.”

“Still don’t understand what you are even saying.”

Ten minutes later, Wooyoung pulls out a black turtleneck and a denim jacket out of the top shelf. He also picks up some accessories from his own table, while Seonghwa puts on a piece of closing, tucking it into his black jeans. It’s actually something that he could have possibly worn on any other day – maybe just a tint bit darker and edgier than his usual outfits, but he likes it. Wooyoung places Seonghwa on a chair near the window, applying some eyeshadow and even sticking a bit of glitter to his cheekbones. He also gives him a few necklaces and earrings, and now a little cross is hanging down one of Seonghwa’s ears.

“Nice,” Wooyoung observes his creation and wipes his hands with a napkin. “Throw your jacket over and we’re good.”

“Can I put a beanie on?” Seonghwa asks, looking up. Wooyoung purses his lips, and sighs. “What? It’s getting colder lately.”

“Do whatever you want,” he says, fixing his bangs. “Not like the person over here just spent good twenty minutes to style your hair but maybe it will look cute, if we’re lucky.”

“I actually hate you.”

Seonghwa doesn’t.

The walk to the club takes around thirty minutes, as they decide to get there on foot. It’s chilly, and Seonghwa can’t help but let out a spiteful laugh when Wooyoung complains that his ears are freezing. _‘Do whatever you want’_ he tries to imitate Wooyoung’s voice and is immediately shoved on the arm. _‘You’re worse than my mom’_ the boy shrieks in reply while laughing at Seonghwa’s antiques.

The club is packed when they arrive, but it’s mostly familiar faces. Seonghwa recognizes some people with whom he shares classes, and the other ones seem to share one dorm building with him. The lights are dim, and heavy, but the stage is illuminated with dull yellow and red, highlighting the instruments that are placed there. Seonghwa spots Yeosang near the stage, and nudges Wooyoung to come to say hello.

“Hey!” This time Yeosang’s smile is sincere, and his gaze is full of softness and something a bit more playful. Perhaps, Seonghwa’s reputation in his eyes is clean now. “Glad you decided to come, San really wanted to see you.”

“That’s what I am saying,” Wooyoung chirps, immediately engaging into the conversation. Some names start appearing here and there in discussion, and that’s when Seonghwa’s brain shuts down, way too occupied with the worrying thoughts in his head.

Does San really want to see _specifically_ him? Or is it just his natural act of kindness? Is it a date, after all?

Those thoughts just start filling up his whole being, taking a roundabout somewhere inside. His breathing starts to get hitched, and his palms are sweaty from anticipation. Seonghwa had seen San in different surroundings – under the dull lights of library, on campus under the sun, -- hell, even in his dorm room with his hair sticking into different directions. But Seonghwa has never seen San performing, and from the things he had heard it is a rather promising and breathtaking sight. Nervousness creeps up, taking his body into its sticky embrace.

“You good?” Wooyoung whispers in his ear, eyes laced with concern.

“Yeah, good,” Seonghwa nods. “Amazing. Spectacular.”

Wooyoung eyes him from head to toes. “Whatever you say, my friend.”

The space starts filling in even more, and eventually Seonghwa along with Wooyoung and Yeosang get pushed closer to the stage. To be quite precise they are practically under it, and Seonghwa has to look up to get it into his view. His body stinks from constant contact with strangers, and he inertially curls into Wooyoung’s side, clinging onto him like his life depends on it. Yeosang coos at the sight, but Seonghwa is way too exhausted from being in the crowds to switch to a usual defensive mode, so he just brushes it off.

When Seonghwa thinks he physically can’t take it anymore, the first person appears on the stage. He recognizes Hongjoong, who occupies his place behind the keyboard – Seonghwa mostly knows all of the members as they happen to casually cross paths somehow. Mingi – a bassist – is Yunho’s close friend, and it’s actually quite surprising that Seonghwa and Wooyoung haven’t been introduced to him personally yet. Jongho – band’s guitarist – shares some classes with Wooyoung, and Hongjoong happens to live just a floor above their room. It’s rather funny how everything seems to lead to his and San’s encounter in one way or another.

A dead romanticist in Seonghwa would say it is destiny. And a cynic would say he’s just naïve and dumb. 

The crowd starts yelling, and Wooyuong yelps by his hade, making Yeosang jab in his place and throw a threatening look at him. Seonghwa watches as Mingi and Jongho pick up their guitars, and the only person missing now is San.

It’s hard to describe the feeling from moment he enters the stage.

San looks amazing – as always, per se. Mostly dressed in black, with dozens of studs in his ears and a ring placed over his lip, that gives a yellowish glow under the stage lighting. Nothing that unusual, not something that should knock Seonghwa out of his comfort zone.

The thing is that San’s shirt is _sleeveless._ And Seonghwa can’t honestly identify if he has ascended to heaven, or descended right to the fucking hell. “Okay, maybe I’m not _that_ good,” he mutters under his breath and hears how Wooyoung hums something illegible in reply.

San’s arms are _fucking nice._ It shouldn’t be surprising, since he is a drummer, and it’s a given, but Seonghwa is in utter shock. His mouth falls agape as he watches as the boy swirls a drumstick in his hand, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Something tugs hard at Seonghwa’s stomach and he lets out a strangled noise at the back of his throat. For the first time, San’s attitude matches his intimidating looks, as the bangs fall over his eyes prettily, and the smirk on his face seems rather cocky and sly.

But when he sees Seonghwa, San splutters into the widest smile, an alluring and suggestive feel to his look vanishing within one microsecond. San throws up one of his arms to wave at him, but Seonghwa still can’t comprehend that something is happening as his brain is still short-circuiting.

“Hey, greet him back, will you?” Wooyoung elbows him and Seonghwa blinks, giving San a forced smile and a little wave. Somewhere beside him Mingi smirks and he sees as Jongho snorts, shaking his head.

The colour of Seonghwa’s cheeks and neck can compete with the bright crimson lighting on the stage.

*

Seonghwa never liked concerts.

Mostly it was connected to his despise of public places, as he couldn’t quite comprehend what can possibly be appealing in jumping up and down in the crowd when everything is so fucking tight that you can’t even breathe. That’s why, preferably, Seonghwa has tried to stay away from those types of events and crowded places in general.

Seonghwa can’t say he quite enjoys the thing that is happening now as well.

He still clings onto Wooyoung tightly, so every time the boy dances, or jumps, Seonghwa and Yeosang go down with him, not having any other option. People are everywhere – on his right, left, behind him and in front of him, he practically feels their sticky breaths and loud voices plastered on his own skin. He’s covered in sweat by now, and perhaps stinks, hoping that the perfume that he applied would be able to cover that.

But when he looks at San on the stage that all doesn’t matter.

He looks _gone_. Completely lost in the performance as he sets the beat to the songs and melodies accompanied by Jongho’s sweet vocals. San’s eyes are dazed, and it’s hard to get his view as Mingi is standing right in front of him and he’s _oh so fucking tall_ , but every time the sight of the boy appears, Seonghwa feels shivers going somewhere down his neck. They lock gazes a few times, and the smirk on San’s lips makes it seem like Seonghwa’s body is set on fire.

It seems like the world get enhanced by ten times, and he sees as San’s arm muscles are contracting every time he puts especially great amount of force into knocking of the rhythm. His hair and body are sweaty as well, looking rather damp, but surprisingly it makes him seem even more attractive, if that was even possible.

The songs that they are playing are also nice – Seonghwa notices how they are not that heavy, having that kind of artsy indie vibe with a tint of existential crisis going on. And it’s something that could have been in Seonghwa’s playlist, if we are being frank. His poetry soul can’t also leave alone the fact that the lyrics feel very raw and emotional, and Seonghwa wonders if San has ever participated in writing some of them because _‘when you're half cut, and you're frozen, and you've got that little mood grieving, you're depending on me again’_ feels very San.

Seonghwa makes mind notes to ask him that.

When performance ends, he feels empty – as if someone sucked his soul out of his body, and when the crowd around him dissolves he nearly collapses, but luckily Wooyoung is still there to keep him in place. “I think that was too much for his weak heart today,” he says with a huff, and all at once Yeosang is on the other side from Seonghwa, holding him by his other elbow to steady his posture out.

“‘M not weak,” Seonghwa murmurs, everything in front of his eyes feeling mushy and fuzzy – like a cotton candy.

Hell, he didn’t even drink anything today.

“Of course, you’re not,” Yeosang laughs, patting him on the back.

They take him to the bar stool, ordering a glass of water, and only when seeing it in front of him Seonghwa understands how thirsty he is. He finishes it in a one big gulp, but the bartender is quick to refill it again.

“Is he okay?” Seonghwa’s head still feels heavy, but he manages to lift it up at the voice. San is standing there, and Seonghwa doesn’t know if he should be sad or happy that a leather jacket is covering his arms now. The hazed look on his face is switched to a rather concerned one, as he crouches a little to try and catch Seonghwa’s gaze.

“A bit dizzy, but he will be fine,” Wooyoung answers somewhere from the side. “He is just not really adapted to large crowds.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa manages to force out, but it feels more like a meowl.

“Hey, it’s okay,” San cups his cheek, tracing his thumb over it and Seonghwa feels fuzzy again. “I nearly fainted at my first concert so it’s good,” he takes his hand back, but Seonghwa tries to chase its warmth, leaning forward a bit. “Mind if I steal him from you guys? I think he needs a bit of fresh air, and maybe a walk.”

“We would be offended if you didn’t,” Yeosang huffs, giving San a look that Seonghwa can’t quite decipher.

“You will be fine if I leave?’ Seonghwa turns around to face Wooyoung. After all, he asked him for a company, and as much as he wants to run away with San now, he doesn’t want to be an asshole once again.

“It’s cool, don’t worry,” he replies, smiling cheekily. “I have Yeosang anyways.”

“Who told you that?” Yeosang nudges him by the shoulder, but splutters in a soft laughter afterwards.

Wooyoung gives him a last meaningful look as they leave – Seonghwa still feels it on his back even when they are getting closer to entrance. When they step outside, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and feeling a wave of relief coming down on his body.

“Better?” San asks in a small voice, gesturing for Seonghwa to sit with him on the steps nearby. If the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t have ever placed himself on a cold cement but, well, the head is still blurry and hazy, and San has all the stars in his eyes, so he sits down, feeling as their shoulders are brushing, but not moving away.

“Much better,” Seonghwa replies. “Sorry for ruining everything.”

“What?” San asks in what seems like confusion. “You came, after all, so nothing is ruined. Best evening ever.”

“Now you’re flirting.”

“And what if I am?” San slightly bumps their knees, leaving them pressed together. Seonghwa feels the heat even through the fabric. “You look great, by the way. I love the glitter.”

“I love your eyes,” Seonghwa blurts out and San immediately flushes, looking to the ground. _Cute._ “Sorry, I’m still a bit drowsy.”

“Stop saying sorry, for fuck’s sake,” San huffs. “I am very much enjoying everything that is happening.”

 _Me too,_ Seonghwa wants to say, but instead presses his own knees closer, looking as people rush past them on this chilly night. As San is sitting close, he feels the boy shiver, his body practically trembling. “You’re cold,” Seonghwa doesn’t even ask, just states, titling his head to look at him.

“Kind of?” San nods. His hair is still a bit damp from the sweat, and up close Seonghwa sees that his eyes and cheeks are also covered with bright colours. There is a brown glittery glow to his eyelids, and his lips look especially pink under the wind. The lip ring sits near the corner of his lips, and Seonghwa thinks the cold metal contrasts with the heat of his body.

He almost _whines_ at the thought.

San stares back at him with a smile. They are close, _too fucking close_ , and by now there are way too many places where the parts of their bodies are coming into touch. Seonghwa takes San’s hands between his, rubbing them intensively to create the heat and warm them up. His own skin spikes, as if San’s hands are charged with electricity. San looks flushed, but lets out a laugh at the action. “It’s okay, I won’t freeze to death,” he says softly while looking at their interlaced hands.

“You can get sick because of the sweat,” Seonghwa says in a low voice, not looking up either. “Oh, wait, I have a beanie with me.” He releases San’s hands and the latter lets out a faint noise that Seonghwa really needs to ignore, but it goes right to the pit of his stomach. Seonghwa goes through his pockets, taking out a black beanie that he had with him. “Here,” he unfolds it, and after hesitating for a second, puts it on San’s head by himself. He makes sure that the ears are covered, titling San’s head while holding him by the nape. Seonghwa darts one of his hand up to San’s forehead, fixing the bangs so they are seen under the beanie. On his way back, he can’t help but trace his fingers over the boy’s cheek, the other hand gripping on the back of his neck gently. San closes his eyes, nuzzling into the touch and lets out a sigh.

“Thank you,” he whispers with eyes still closed. “It’s much warmer now.”

“Glad it helped,” Seonghwa whispers back, feeling as his knees are trembling. He lingers over the boy’s skin for a bit more before letting go, dropping his hands back into place. “Do you want to head back? I am feeling better.”

“I want you to enjoy your time,” San says and opens his eyes. His gaze is a bit fazed and dizzy, but soft. “And you clearly don’t enjoy clubs and noise.”

“I can tolerate if it’s with you,” Seonghwa shrugs, not knowing where all the boldness is coming from today. Mentally he blames San’s bare arms.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go somewhere else,” San takes phone out of his pocket, and looks like he sends a message to someone. “I just warned the boys so it’s okay if we leave. I have a place that I really want to show you.”

“Oh.”

“One of my favourites in the city, and what’s more important it’s _quiet_ ,” San huffs. “And that’s what your antisocial soul needs.”

“Hey, I am _not_ antisocial,” Seonghwa groans and San wholeheartedly laughs. “I just don’t like crowds.”

“That is the place where Wooyoung would make a connection to one of your placements, but I’m not as good as him so sorry,” San says cheekily. “Let’s just blame everything on your Aries placements once again.”

“You’re on a thin fucking ice.”

Typing a short message to Wooyoung, Seonghwa gets up, stretching out his hands above his head. Something cracks, and San grumbles how Seonghwa is an old man already. The latter just rolls his eyes at that, implying that at least he is wiser. It’s a playful banter, and Seonghwa feels livid, the illusion of world being enhanced by ten times not going away.

They make their way through the streets and people, the night life of the city being as wild as ever. There are voices, laughs, bright lights – too much of everything in one place.

“I actually really enjoyed the performance,” Seonghwa says, trailing behind San as the streets are too narrow and crowded. At one point he grabs on his hand, but no one seems to mind so they keep walking like this. San’s hand is still cold, for some reason, and it’s striking to Seonghwa’s warm one.

“Did you?” San glances back at him. “Didn’t expect you to, honestly, but I am glad.”

“Yeah, it actually something I would listen to,” Seonghwa gives San’s hand a reassuring grip. “Sorry for being a stubborn bitch.”

San laughs, stopping as the traffic light glows with red. “At one point of my life I really thought you hate me, you know?”

“Right, you were _terrified,_ ” Seonghwa recalls Yoohyeon’s words said at their first meeting. San mutters something close to ‘shut up’ and looks away. “I didn’t hate you,” Seonghwa whispers, shaking his head. “I just was really biased because of my own prejudices.”

“Thought that I am a heartless fuckboy who just wants to get on your nerves?”

“How could I not?” The traffic light gleams with green, and San tugs him forward. They turn to the corner, and luckily the street is less crowded. Seonghwa joins San’s side, letting go of his hand but leaving their knuckles brushing. “You looked like a fuckboy.”

“Just because of my looks and the fact that I played in a band?” San chuckles. “Wooyoung was right, your ways of thinking are a bit conservative.”

“When did you even start talking?”

“Yunho gave me his number,” San shrugs. “But really, I couldn’t understand why you were so opposed to me.”

“I guess I was scared,” Seonghwa says quietly, gaze fixed on the ground.

“Thought I will break your heart?”

“Now you do sound like a fuckboy, sorry.”

San laughs, bumping him with his shoulder. He leads them to the place near the river, but once they reach it, he sinks in a small tunnel, taking steps down. Seonghwa follows, looking around to make sure it’s even legal.

In a minute Seonghwa understands that they are under the bridge. There are steps that are leading to the water as well, and cemented walls are practically everywhere – behind, above them and one the sides, as if they have been built to cage them. Though it’s kind of spacious, and the only thing that Seonghwa hears is the sound of cars and noise of the city somewhere behind those walls.

“This place is so you,” Seonghwa voices his thoughts, looking around. “Looks just like one of the songs you were singing today. I mean, your band.”

“Which one?” San smiles. His eyes always lit up immediately as the mention of music.

“The one with a lot of _‘fucking’_ in it,” Seonghwa replies, lips curling into a playful smirk. “There was something about _mood grieving_ and _depending._ ”

“Oh, it’s called Cocoon,” San nods. “I wrote lyrics to that one.”

“Thought so.”

They stay quiet for a moment, and something in San’s eyes seems new to Seonghwa. Usually they are soft, radiating kindness and cheerfulness wherever he goes. On stage they are hazed and sultry, sucking you in like a black hole. But now there is something more to them, as if there is a silent question that lingers in his gaze, but he is way too afraid to voice it out.

“The thing that I wanted to show.” San clears his throat, and the magic is broken all at once. “It’s actually this wall behind you. Look at it a bit closer.”

Seonghwa turns around. At first glance it’s just a wall, and it looks like any other cemented construction in here. But when he comes closer, he sees that there is no single free space on it – everything is filled with drawings, graffitis, doodles and most importantly _words_. They are everywhere, occupying most of the place. By the formation Seonghwa immediately can tell that those are verses, little poems and lyrics here and there.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

“We stumbled across this place accidentally,” San explains, coming closer as well. “Not like I can say I especially like it, but I found that one poem about stars on it, and it kept me awake through the whole night afterwards.” San points at the place to Seonghwa’s left. The latter catches a messy handwriting, trying to make out what the words are even saying. The verse looks quite long, trailing from the top and almost to the middle, and a written with a white dye.

_And overwrought, in the swirls of afternoon dust,_

_he bursts in on God, afraid he might be already late._

_In tears,_

_he kisses God's sinewy hand, and begs him to guarantee_

_that there will definitely be a star._

_He swears he won't be able to stand that starless ordeal._

_Listen,_

_If stars are lit, it means - there is someone who needs it._

_It means - someone wants them to be, that someone deems those specks of spit_

_magnificent._

_It means it is essential that every evening_

_at least one star should ascend, over the crest of the building._

“San,” Seonghwa rasps, feeling a lump forming in his throat as he traces his fingers over words.

“It’s a poem by a Russian poet, twentieth century,” San starts speaking, voice trembling over as well. “Tragic destiny – as every artist has,” he gulps. “He was really opposed to the idea of censorship in art, especially in writing. A lot of critics called his works very free-spirited, daring, even. Some of them criticized and satirized a system a lot, so the life wasn’t, obviously, that sweet of a deal.”

“San,” Seonghwa tries again, turning around to face him.

But San is already hazed, and _gone,_ just like how he looked behind the drums on that stage. “ _If stars are lit, it means there is someone who needs it,_ ” he says under his breath, looking up to lock their gazes and titles his head. “ _You’re my star, Seonghwa._ ”

Everything is a blur. Seonghwa wants to say so much – how San is so fucking bright and blinding, how happy and safe he makes him feel and how badly he wants to hold him now. But instead of words there is just noise, coming somewhere from the back of his throat. Somewhere amiss the haze he closes the space between them, taking San’s face in his hands and placing a kiss on his lips.

It’s faint, very light and pristine – Seonghwa leans back in a second. Their breaths are a mush, and San’s eyes look like a glitch as he stares back at him. There is a small smile on his lips that Seonghwa desperately wants to kiss away, but his body is still trembling, not being able to get caught up with the feelings that hold him tightly in an embrace.

“Hey,” San whispers, and this time it’s him who crosses the distance between their lips. Now it feels hot all over, fingers going up to cradle through San’s hair. His lips are firm as they move, and Seonghwa gasps at the feeling of metal against his flushed skin. It feels just like he had imagined – only that in reality it’s even more overwhelming. Seonghwa’s hands slide down to his arms, and despite them being covered with a layer of leather he practically feels the skin and the warmth underneath. San lets out a fragile yelp as Seonghwa gently pushes him to the wall, as they stumble forward together. His hands slide further down to his waist, gripping on San’s hips as he pins him to the surface.

Seonghwa darts his tongue over the seam of San’s lips, and the metal – oh what a surprise – tastes like metal. He tugs on the lip ring with enough force and San lets out yet another whimper, opening his mouth. His breath is hitched and heavy as he pushes his tongue inside, fumbling even closer. They part, and San _whines,_ but Seonghwa quickly kisses the sound away, placing his lips right under the boy’s pulse point, tracing open-mouthed kisses.

“Seonghwa,” San’s voice is hitched and brittle, as if he’s reaching out for air. Seonghwa slides his hands under San’s shirt, tracing a soft but toned skin of his abdomen. He feels goosebumps appearing there at the touch of his cold hands, that were mostly uncovered to chilly winds. “Fuck, Seonghwa, I really, really like you,” he breathes out sharply, and Seonghwa hums something illegible into his skin. “I like you _so fucking much_.”

Seonghwa stops, looking up to catch San’s gaze. His eyes are dusky, almost as dark as the sky above, his cheeks are flushed with red, that goes all the way down his body. Seonghwa gently slides his hand from under his shirt, and laces both of their hands, tracing skin there with his thumbs. San gulps, bumping his head on Seonghwa’s chest, and the latter lets out a chapped laugh.

“Sorry,” San mumbles, and the sound vibrates through Seonghwa’s skin.

“Why?” Seonghwa whispers as low, gently cradling through San’s hair.

“I didn’t plan to confess to you when I am _infatuated_.”

“I didn’t plan to kiss you either, but here we are.”

San sees Seonghwa off to his room, insisting that he would stay over at Hongjoong’s if it’s too late. The walk to the dorms is lazy and sluggish, as they stop practically at every corner either to hug or to kiss. None of them is drunk, but from someone’s point of view they definitely look quite intoxicated – no one just knows that this state is caused not by an alcohol.

When they are five minutes away from Seonghwa’s room, his phone vibrates with a notification. San looks over his shoulder, placing his chin over it cutely, and it’s kind of hard to comprehend what appears on the screen when the side of his neck is covered with goosebumps from the heat of San’s breath.

**from: personal astrologer**

don’t wait for me

staying at yeosang’s

:)

**to: personal astrologer**

so what happened to i will never date a gemini

?

**from: personal astrologer**

fuck off you’re dating a cancer

Seonghwa holds his breath, fingers trembling over the screen. He knows that San is reading everything, and there are several unsaid things that are hanging in the air now. Seonghwa locks his phone, feeling as San leans back and looks at him. “So,” he says, gulping loudly.

“So,” San nods.

“Do you--,” Seonghwa sucks in a breath. “Do you want to like…,” _oh god as if we are kids in kindergarten,_ “stay over? Since you don’t know if Hongjoong is already back,” he forces out in one breath, gaze locked to the ground. “We don’t have to do anything, we can watch something, or sleep or just—”

“I would love to,” San replies softly, taking Seonghwa’s hand.

“Okay, yeah,” Seonghwa breathes out. “Cool.”

Seonghwa’s bed is small – even for himself sometimes, if to speak frankly. He always complains how Wooyoung just turned his kindness into his own favour, occupying the bigger and much softer bed in the further corner of the room. Seonghwa is quite used to a backpain and body ache that he has from his sleeping place by now, but every night it still seems like something is wrong, making his insides itch with unpleasant tingling.

But that night it didn’t matter at all. Everything feels tender, gentle, and soft, even at the sharpest edges, as if finally Seonghwa is doing something right in his life. San looks especially happy as he looks at their locked hands under the moonlight coming from the window, humming some foreign melodies under his breath. It’s to the point where they don’t even talk – communicating only with soft touches and hitched brittle breath, accompanied by parts and pieces of lyrics that come from San’s mouth. And maybe the problem wasn’t in Seonghwa’s uncomfortable bed, or his overthinking head and ‘unleashed demons’ living there, after all. Because that night everything feels perfect.

Seonghwa falls asleep with San in his embrace while counting down stars on his ceiling.

*

“So, you want to tell me you didn’t have _the talk_?”

It’s an early evening when Wooyoung invites Seonghwa to eat out together, and, honestly, he is still a bit fazed from all the overwhelming events from yesterday to carry out any type of conversations properly. He had it hard, after all – from nearly fainting in the middle of the club to happily finding his lips locked with possibly the most loveable person that planet earth has ever witnessed.

_Huh._

Seonghwa blinks through several times. “The talk? What do you mean?”

Wooyoung stops munching on his pastry, putting it back to his plate and looking at Seonghwa as if he had killed a person yesterday and is asking advice on where to hide the body. Which is rather useful, so to say, but let that be. “You kissed.” Wooyoung states, raising his eyebrows.

“We did.”

“And he stayed over.”

“Well, yes,” Seonghwa nods. “I don’t understand what are you implying here?”

Wooyoung sighs, pursing his lips. “You’re so dense sometimes, Hwa, it’s actually unbelievable.”

“I breathed?”

“You should have had _the talk_!” Wooyoung shrieks, scaring away several people passing by in process. “What are we? Are we dating? Are you my boyfriend?”

“No,” Seonghwa chuckles.

“Very _mature_ , Park Seonghwa,” Wooyoung snorts, crossing arms on his chest. “Rolling on the floor from laughing.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Do you like him?”

“Of course, I do,” he says without hesitating. It disappeared somewhere between warm embraces and sloppy kisses yesterday.

“Did you say it to him?”

Seonghwa mentally goes back over the day. The club. The river. The dorm. They woke up together, and Seonghwa cooed how adorable San looks even with smudged make up that they forgot to remove because they were way too hazed and tired. Then they had a breakfast in a shitty convenience store at the corner, while watching some videos on youtube and laughing about the way San nearly teared up at the sight of black cat screaming on the balcony. When San said something about one more band rehearsal, Seonghwa saw him off to a bus station, humiliatingly refusing to let go of San’s hand even when his bus arrived – the driver even had to signal them to get San to hurry up. Every memory is laced with sweetness and lingering terrifying excitement, and seemed so extremely perfect that Seonghwa can’t help but feel smile crawling onto his lips but—

“Oh my god, I didn’t?” The realization hits him, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards. “San confessed to me, after the kiss, but I didn’t say a single word, oh fuck,” Seonghwa hides his face into his hands, rubbing on his cheeks.

Wooyoung stays silent for a moment, and Seonghwa is prepared to be called an idiot once again, but instead feels how he carefully takes his hands away from his face, uncovering it. “Hey, you said that he looked happy, so I supposed it didn’t bother him?”

“Knowing him he was just scared to cross the boundaries,” Seonghwa mutters. “He called me his star, Wooyoung.”

“Cancers,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Of course, he did.”

“Hey, it was very cute, for your information.”

“I didn’t even say anything and you are already defending the boy.”

Wooyoung starts munching on his pastry again, and Seonghwa takes out his phone to check the notifications. His heart falls a bit at the sight of empty screen, wondering if San is still rehearsing, and if it’s better not to bother him. Seonghwa feels rather restless, and, well, patience was never one of his strongest sides.

His hand hovers over familiar contact name, fingers trembling a little above appearing keyboard.

**to: san <3**

hey

can we meet at the library tomorrow?

Seonghwa locks his phone as soon as he sends the message, turning it upside down. Wooyoung looks at him like he’s an idiot again, shaking his head. Two minutes later – Seonghwa counts – there is a vibrating sound coming from the table. With heavy heart he picks up the phone again.

**from: san <3 **

sure

can’t wait ;)

Seonghwa doesn’t know if his bed will be as welcoming without San this night.

*

When Seonghwa was a kid, he once stumbled upon a really big encyclopedia in his father’s cabinet. It had thick pages, a heavy feel to it, and the text there was so small that his eyes hurt even just at sight of it. But Seonghwa was alone, and had nothing better to do to occupy his ten-year-old mind, so he opened the book on a completely random page – just a first number that came to his head.

That’s when Seonghwa found out about general relativity. At that time, it’s hard for him to understand dry and abstruse encyclopedia’s definition full of scientific terms and complex words, but one thing gets stuck in his brain for the rest of his life.

_General relativity predicts that the path of light will follow the curvature of spacetime as it passes near a star._

When he recited the notion – as if by heart – to his mother she smiled, gently caressing through his hair. _“That’s because stars are never lonely, Seonghwa,”_ she said. _“You will be the brightest one to help people to find their path.”_

If he thinks about that now, standing in the middle of the library where everything started, it occurs to him that the universe is, indeed, amusing. Perhaps, San is the light that just happen to pass by Seonghwa, and, maybe, that small and insignificant intrusion helped him to follow the right curvature.

It’s silly, but Seonghwa wants to believe that the universe had everything planned.

“You look perplexed,” the voice startles him from behind, pulling Seonghwa out of his pool of thoughts. San approaches him with a soft smile – as always, plopping at the chair nearby. “Thinking of the meaning of the life?”

“Kind of,” Seonghwa shoots a forced grin at the boy’s direction. San looks a bit tired today, though still bright and vivid, even in his usual black attire. For some reason he is especially pretty today, and Seonghwa really wants to _touch_ , but instead just grips onto his own knees helplessly. “Are you okay?”

San huffs, looking to the ground. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, but the question feels rather rhetorical, as if he is talking to himself.

Seonghwa gulps, helplessly trying to find the right words in his head. “San, I like you.” He tries to put the confidence into his voice but it sounds more like a plea, and he instinctively flinches.

San stays silent, and Seonghwa can’t bear to meet his eyes, but then the boy lets out a laugh, the sound echoing through the small space they are sitting in. “Well, yeah? I kind of got that when you kissed me?”

Seonghwa’s head snaps at the word and he sees how San is titling his head to the side cheekily. His lips are curled into a half-smile, and that makes a dimple appear at the side of his mouth. “Wait, you aren’t mad? Or, like, disappointed?” Seonghwa asks, lips parting in confusion.

“Why would I be?” San repeats his question, and leans closer.

“Are you even capable of being mad?”

“On very rare occasions,” San huffs. He hesitates for a moment, but then laces their fingers together, softly tracing his thumb over the skin.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, feeling as his breath is trapped somewhere in his lungs. “I just--,” he lets it out, exhaling loudly. “I got a bit worried, because Wooyoung said we should have _the talk_ or whatever the hell it means. And then I went over the day and I realized that I didn’t say anything to you, you know? Like, how do I feel about you? And maybe you got wrong idea that—”

“Hey,” San cups Seonghwa’s face, making their eyes meet. San’s eyes are dark and pretty, and his cheeks are tinted with a light pink colour, nicely accompanying his bronze skin. “You were willing to make it up, that’s enough, you know?”

And then something – Seonghwa can’t quite pinpoint what – brings him back to that night conversation with Wooyoung, _as sad as it may sound, maybe he is just not used to be treated with niceness in return,_ that was his words. “San,” Seonghwa says, feeling as the skin is still tingling where San is touching him. “Why did you thank me that day? When I came to apologize?”

San furrows, obviously not really expecting the question. He takes his hands away from Seonghwa’s face and drops them to his knees, fiddling with a ring on his lip. “I just have this theory that people are too comfrotable to think with firmly set concepts. Sometimes it happens unconsciously, we just don’t understand that it is something that is put in our head since really young age,” San bitterly chuckles. “Black is bad, white is good, as if the world is as shallow as it is. But it’s just easy to think in those categories, you know? It makes it seem that you understand the world, and it is as simple as the set notions in your head.” He looks up, and smiles. “I am used to judging, so eventually I just accepted it as the part of human nature, and it’s kind of inevitable, so I just stopped paying that much of attention to it.”

“But I apologized,” Seonghwa mumbles.

“You did,” San nods. “And I saw how hard it was for you, but you said so many nice things about me, even when we didn’t know each other at all, and you had your own prejudices.”

“Hey, it wasn’t _many_ nice things.”

“Isn’t _‘you’re fucking kind and nice’_ a lot?” San arches an eyebrow and Seonghwa snorts, but feels a smile curling at the side of his lips. “You won my heart that day, you know?”

“Was it _that_ easy?” Seonghwa smirks softly, letting out a huffed laugh.

San rolls his eyes but laughs back. “I told you, you’re a star, Seonghwa,” he says, leaning in again. “It’s so funny,” San now switches to a low whisper, gaze flicking up and down Seonghwa’s face. He raises up one of his arms and places one hand on the back of his neck. The touch is light, almost feather-like as he doesn’t press in. “Did you know you have an Aries constellation at the back of your neck?” He slowly traces his fingers on Seonghwa’s nape, drawing a pattern where the latter knows he has a splutter of hardly seen freckles. “Stars are everywhere in you, as if you were made of them.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes, feeling his guts twitch and turn, as if someone is mixing his insides with a spoon, creating a swirl. “Can you tone down with corniness I think I’m collapsing,” Seonghwa forces out and San bursts into laugh, hands sliding down to Seonghwa’s shoulders.

“Fire signs,” San playfully rolls his eyes.

“Please stop talking like Wooyoung it gives me headaches.”

San pretends to be engaged in thinking process, small pout appearing on his face as he furrows. “Only if you go on a date with me today.”

Seonghwa leans in closer, watching as San’s pout transfers in a grin. Their noses are brushing by now, and he feels the boy’s hot breath on his lips. He smells like coffee and melon gum that he usually uses, and the scent is so sweet that it seems like it gets under Seonghwa’s skin. “Sounds like a deal,” he whispers, and it lingers somewhere between their lips.

_If stars are lit, it means there is someone who needs it._

And it’s, indeed, true.

**Author's Note:**

> god help ateez and their fucked up natal charts /lh  
> thank you for making it through and i hope you enjoyed it <3 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/softouchan)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/_softouches)  
> [buy me coffee <3](buymeacoffee.com/softouches)
> 
> will add some closing remarks when i calm down but the only thing i want is to post it again but if you have questions pls hit me up here or on twitter 
> 
> thank you for reading <3


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